


as a shadow follows a body

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [64]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Drug-Induced Sex, Druids, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Magic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pornalot, Questionable Use of Druid Rituals, Recreational Drug Use, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Sex Magic, Visions, remix eligible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 20:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11790696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: He’s waiting for her when she gets back, the glow from a single candle playing over his face. It’s not deliberate, she knows: light just seems to follow him like one of his faithful knights, emphasising the line of his jaw and his tousled hair like a prince out of one of her mother’s stories. It’s one of the reasons she hates him so much – or it would be, if she could bring herself to hate him at all.Written for Pornalot 2017 Bonus Challenge #1 (Enemies to Lovers).





	as a shadow follows a body

_Now, in their love, which was stronger, there were the seeds of hatred and fear and confusion growing at the same time: for love can exist with hatred, each preying on the other, and this is what gives it its greatest fury._  
— T. H. White  


*

  
He’s waiting for her when she gets back, the glow from a single candle playing over his face. It’s not deliberate, she knows: light just seems to follow him, like one of his faithful knights, emphasising the line of his jaw and his tousled hair like a prince out of one of her mother’s stories. It’s one of the reasons she hates him so much –– or it would be, if she could bring herself to hate him at all.  
  
“Is this the part where you tell me you’ve come to surrender?” she asks, ignoring the point of his sword where it digs into her throat. She lets herself smile, a cruel curl of her lips. “I can’t promise to be merciful, but if you beg, I might be convinced to spare your life.”  
  
“You’re hardly in a position to be dispensing mercy,” Arthur replies, unmoved. “You know as well as I do that the Druids can’t hold out much longer. You have to end this, Morgana, before you get them all killed.”  
  
“And if I don’t?”  
  
The blade presses in deeper. “Then I will put an end to it myself.”  
  
Morgana lets out a breath. She wants to laugh, because even after all these years he clearly has no idea of the power she wields, the forces she has at her fingertips. He could kill her in a second, but she could slaughter him in less than that, and take the rest of his army with him.  
  
“I have a better idea,” she says, sliding her robe from her shoulders and letting it pool at her feet. Underneath, she is wearing a white linen shift and nothing else, her dark hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. “Beltane is a time of peace among my adopted people. In honour of that peace, share a drink with me, and I promise I will listen to whatever you have to say.”  
  
She can see him hesitate, his eyes tracking the outline of her body through the diaphanous fabric. Beneath the dress, her feet are bare, and she knows how she must appear to the untrained eye. Chivalrous knight that he is, Arthur can no more harm her now than if she were wearing a sheet of plated metal. She waits.  
  
“Fine.” At last, the sword drops away. “One drink, and then we talk.”  
  
“One drink.” Morgana inclines her head. With a flick of her wrist, she summons a pitcher from the air without a word, enjoying Arthur’s flinch at this reminder of her power. A heady scent fills the tent, and Morgana breathes in deeply. Already she can feel her magic stirring, the veils that cover her inner eye beginning to shift. She pours a small amount of liquid into two glasses and hands the first to Arthur.

“ _Bendrice_ ,” she says. He lifts the goblet in a tentative salute, but waits until she has taken the first draught before he drinks, allowing himself only a tiny sip.  
  
Always so cautious, her brother – yet it will make little difference. The mixture is a potent one, a combination of herbs for sight and herbs for awakening: the smallest taste has been known to drive Seers mad with ecstasy. Even Morgana, who as High Priestess has become somewhat desensitised through repeated use, can’t help but let out a soft sigh as a rush of heat runs through her veins. Arthur lets out a strangled sound.  
  
“What is _in_ this thing?”  
  
“Nothing poisonous,” she says, taking his cup away. He stares at her with wide eyes, his pupils already dilating as the drug takes hold. “I promised I’d listen to what you had to say, but I didn’t promise you’d be sober enough to say it.”  
  
“That’s cheating.” He sounds almost offended, but Morgana is already moving forward, her hands deft on the laces of his tunic. “What are you doing?”  
  
“It will be easier like this,” she says. Already, the light of him is blinding, searing her skin wherever it touches. She kisses the tiny flames along his neck, straddling him even as he half-heartedly pushes her away.  
  
“You’re my sister.”  
  
“Only by half,” she coaxes, sliding her hand inside his breeches. They've done this before, after all, when things had been simpler. When they hadn't realised they were meant to be enemies by birth. “It hardly matters.”  
  
“Mor _gana_ …” He groans, and she cradles him, teasing the head until he clutches at her waist and rucks up her shift with eager hands. He pulls her to him, shuddering, and she strokes his hair as he slides into her, wrapping her legs around him to fix him to his path.  
  
This close, he burns. The movement of him inside her is almost painful, fuelling her visions with each erratic thrust. She Sees his death. She Sees her own fall, inevitable as a turning wheel, the regretful face of the man who will betray her. Arthur’s fingers find her clit, rubbing the small nub of flesh as his free hand slides up her flank to cup her breast, and she cries out, her head falling back as the fire takes hold.  
  
Inside her head, entire empires rise and fall on the back of Arthur's smile.

  
*

  
If Arthur makes a sound when he comes, she doesn’t hear it, too caught up in the wracking pleasure that comes with her Sight. It is some time later that she drifts back to herself, his head pillowed against her chest, her hands still caught in the fine threads of his hair.  
  
“This doesn’t change anything,” he warns her, the words slurred slightly around the edges. “You know it doesn’t.”  
  
“I know,” she says. The light around him is dimming now, becoming once more a candle’s flame, but already she can feel the edges of the shadow that will snuff it out. She lets him go, turning away as he sets himself to rights.  
  
He will ask her to surrender, but she has already won.


End file.
